


The Stars May Burn

by Aly_H



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, M/M, One Shot Collection, This is a chronological nightmare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 19,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: A collection of Star Wars: The Old Republic one-shots surrounding my characters in the game. Some of the stories will tie in with one another (I'll make a note of anywhere they do in my A/N) but most will be single serving stories.I welcome prompts and suggestions for my characters but may not write them.Warning: The rating will probably change to M or E as I add more stories!





	1. Thoughts in the Night - Quinn/K. Videti [SW]

**Author's Note:**

> Not all these stories exist in the same Universe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's thoughts keep him up that night and he makes a decision regarding his loyalties...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Sith Warrior story line!
> 
> Female Sith Warrior, Kassandey Videti, in a relationship with Malavai Quinn.

He trailed his fingers through the long red hair – he couldn’t get up if he wanted to. Not that he does. The mask that hides where on a human her eyes would be is set on the table to his side and he can see the full extent of her face. The sleeping Sith Lord has tangled herself tight around him, her guards completely down for the time being.

Love. Trust, even. Both were expressed by the simple lack of guards she left up around him. And his heart twisted a little recognizing them.

They’re not things he’s never seen her express.

The Miralukan Sith’s great fondness for Vette is plain to anyone who dares to look to harm the blue Twi’lek. She’s asked him if he could plan an assault on the Hutt’s palace – the one responsible for the death of Vette’s mother. She would never let the younger woman take that kill but he knows that it bothers her that vengeance was not given.

She struggles to keep Jaesa on a leash, her fears regarding her apprentice’s obsessive hunt regarding her twin brother. A man as powerful as his sister but known to be far gentler and preferring less direct solutions to problems. Baras wants Jaesa’s power, but if the former-Padawan sets her sights on the other Videti twin she’ll be dead.

Pierce’s Bastion obsession is indulged. As is Boonmark’s oddities.

She killed Moff Broysc for him, fearing that if he did it the Imperial Army might seek retribution. As a Sith Lord, even one disgraced in the eyes of most the Dark Council, she is beyond their reproach.

A smile tugs at her lips. Some dream entertaining her – it was better than the nightmares. He disliked waking her from those, she slept too little, but it was better than leaving her to suffer no matter what she claimed when she had calmed. ‘They fuel my rage, make me stronger, Quinn.’

(Why was it always Quinn, why not Malavai?)

For all she has been named Wrath it is not _rage_ that feeds her strength.

The dreams had gotten worse after Draahg had nearly killed them all over Hoth.

He wonders if Baras knows this. If that was why when he saw his apprentice’s interest in her Balmorran contact he’d suggested that until he decided what he wished his next post to be that he join the young Sith’s crew as her second.

But her success in turning Jaesa, the power she exhibited in slaying Jedi Masters and rival Sith alike had proved too potent. Baras had decided it was safer to destroy his young apprentice rather than control her.

He hadn’t known when she disembarked with a stolen kiss on Quesh. A mission for the Empire, she’d holo if she needed any help, she’d told them but that they needed to make sure the ship was ready.

She didn’t call though.

Servants One and Two did.

It was a trap which collapsed the tunnels she was in, nearly killing her. Leaving her battered and enduring his first aid training in private as she hadn’t trusted the others not to take advantage of her weakened state as her stable position among the Sith hierarchies slid out from under her. He and Vette alone knew how badly hurt she’d been and Vette didn’t have any sort of medical training.

It took him a while to understand why the knowledge that yet another man had picked her up to use as a blunt instrument for their own agenda.

Jealous.

Of the _Emperor_.

How stupid was he? No matter how many times she sought his company, or let her guard down like this, there would never be any part of her that would belong to him the way that he could feel himself losing bits of himself to her as she grinned and flustered him out of his calm demeanor, messing with his control.

He’d tried to tell her – tried to leave, let her know that she couldn’t trust him. Compromised, he’d told her – but not the real reason why.

He’d watched the catch in her throat and the furrow in her brow – she said she’d let him go if that was what _he_ wanted. Always, she backed off at the last second, refused to exert her authority or power against him in the matter of her attraction, kept things profession if he seemed uncomfortable or attempted to direct her focus away.

If he stayed he would betray her, and it would break his heart to do it, but seeing her look so vulnerable he hadn’t been able to walk away. He’d kissed her instead.

Blast, was he an idiot.

Baras had used the Force to make sure he wouldn’t tell her. Quinn wasn’t sure that the compulsion was necessary, his loyalties too deeply torn between the two Sith for him to be certain which side of the line he’d fall on anyways.

He would follow his orders. Plan and calculate.

But the attack wouldn’t succeed. He would make sure that she would walk away from the attempt. Make sure that if she brought any of her people with her they walked out with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed leave a kudos or comment please!


	2. Trick Shot (part 1) - Izar [BH]/Claribel [SM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of how Izar Nuncio, soon to become one of the galaxy's most infamous bounty hunters first met the smuggler who'd one day become the Voidhound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Male Bounty Hunter, Izar Nuncio, and female smuggler, Claribel Fyre.
> 
> These two eventually end up with one another, this is one version of the story they tell about their first meeting.
> 
> Set during the BH story-line on Hutta and immediately prior to the Smuggler origin.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered, wincing as she applied the kolto pack to the graze. She was supposed to be halfway to Ord Mantel by now but Zeven had holoed her while she was on Nar Shaddaa picking up the blasters. The kid had gotten himself in too deep on Hutta.

Although, who on Hutta _wasn’t_ in it too deep?

She’d managed to make it all the way to the Rust Yards without too much trouble. (By which one meant that the tiny female smuggler had shot enough people in the face that she’d given up keeping count.)

Getting to the Rust Yards Kraay had (reluctantly) pointed her in the right direction. The odd twi’lek wasn’t her favorite person in the world, but at least he’d been nice enough to tell her she needed to hurry. Apparently one of Nemro’s bounty hunting dogs had been sent in minutes ahead, but he had a few different targets.

Right now though the young Captain was mostly wishing that she wasn’t the soft heart that she was. Too many people she knew that couldn’t keep themselves out of trouble knew they could call her if they found themselves in it and she’d do her best to help for a pittance of what her efforts were worth.

An explosion knocked out the droids that had been pinning her and she slowly peered around her cover.

The man was wearing heavier armor than she was (well, she wasn’t wearing _any_ armor, just a dull blue colored vest that a shifty arms dealer on the Promenade had sworn would stop a bolt but mostly she’d liked that it had lots of pockets). His dark brown hair spiked up, and both eyes focused on her, a red cybernetic one set beside a natural brown colored one.

“You’re too pretty to be one of Fa’athra’s goons,” he grinned at her, lowering his own twin blasters. Albeit _his_ were heavier and he had a considerably larger amount of ordinance compared to the handful of flash grenades she had on her belt.

She gave a snort as she got to her feet, “So’re you. Thanks for the help there.”

“Don’t mention it – unless you’re here for a bounty?” suspicion flickered in the natural eye.

She shook her head quickly, “Friend – of a sorts, anyways – called me to say he was about to get grabbed by Fa’arthra’s people, I’m here to make sure he gets out breathing.”

“Zeven? Mirialan, young guy? Sort to insist on freeing _all_ the slaves in the building before himself?”

“…yeah.”

“Don’t worry, he’s on his way to Kraay already, long with all the other slaves I could find,” was the lopsided grin. “Do me a favor, though? Tell the kid to get off Hutta. He’s gonna get himself killed trying to work for Hutts.”

“Oh, I’m going to kill him myself when I get my hands on his skinny green neck,” irritation flashed through her – she’d been looking for the damn kid and he’d already gotten rescued?

“Fair ‘nough,” the cyborg chuckled as he let his eyes trace over her. She dressed like a spacer, Corellian style clothes common for a lot of spacers who jumped around a lot. Her accent was from that part too. She was a pretty little thing, a few inches shorter than _Mako_ with brown hair done up in a ponytail and bright green eyes.

Cybernetics ran along her bottom jaw along with considerable scarring, so she’d had her face put back together at some point – using his own false eye to scan he could see that one of her eyes was actually a high quality fake while her cheek bone on that side and entire lower jaw were all cybernetic.

“So, gorgeous, you know how to use those?” he glanced back, more droids.

“Needing someone to watch your back?”

“Wouldn’t say ‘no’.”

She grinned - it wasn't her first potentially ill-thought out alliance made while being shot at - raised her guns, dropped into a kneeling position behind one of those portable shields and emptied a spray of gun fire into the doorway, mowing down the newly appeared guards. “Lead the way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Trick Shot story is how Izar and Claribel come to know one another, and will have one or two parts more, I think.
> 
> I'll probably write some more with the pairing later on that's unrelated to the Trick Shot series too. But may also write the in-game pairings I have them set up with.
> 
> I accept prompts and suggestions! If you have something you want to see me write in the SWTOR universe just drop it by either in the comments or at tumblr!  
> You can also find me over at tumblr here: https://aly-the-writer.tumblr.com/  
> If you spot any of the characters in-game feel free to say "Hi!" I run around the BC server.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Remember: Writers are delicate beings who subsist solely on diets of caffeine, chocolate and affirmation! Please encourage the survival of the species with plenty of kudos and comments during your reading!


	3. A Name - Theron Shan/Tusin Shade [SI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a quiet moment on Yavin the Inquisitor Darth Nox takes a break in the company of his favorite Republic agent.

“Here,” Darth Nox offered him a fruit as he settled onto one of the crates, watching the argument that was going on between Marr and Satele. “She disapproves of Videti executing the Revanite prisoners, huh?”

“How do you know?” he asked, accepting the fruit after a moment. He’d been picking at his own rations after all – bland Republic army stuff meant to keep one filled and have nutrients but the taste left much to be desired. He’d noticed that the Sith and the officers from the Imperial army had a better selection of food than most.

“Tell you for a kiss?” he offered, keeping his brilliant yellow eyes locked on Satele as he used a knife to cut his own fruit apart. The shade was startling enough in Lana, but the contrast between his red skin made it all the more startling.

“Not happening,” he chuckled despite himself. “At least not right now.”

That got a pleased smile, but no answer, the pair eating in silence. The Sith sharing bits of his meal with Theron.

“You know, Nox, I’m not starving,” he said as he noticed another fruit slice had appeared while he was distracted watching Havoc squad’s off-duty antics now that they had a chance to breathe.

“I know, but the Force here is powerful enough I’m not hungry. No point in it going to waste,” the Sith replied. “Also – Tusin.”

He frowned a moment, trying to place the word in the languages that he knew, not recognizing it: “What?”

“My name, when I’m not being a scary, evil Dark Council lord,” was the amused reply. “It’s Tusin Shade.”

He reached over and offered his hand, “Theron Shan.”

The got a laugh and his hand clasped, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Theron. Let me buy you a drink sometime?”

“Sometime,” he smiled despite the fact that they both knew this wouldn’t work. When the threat was ended – _if_ it was – they would return to their separate sides of the war. Tusin was a good man but he was still Sith. He wouldn’t be welcome on Theron’s side of things any more than Theron would be on Tusin’s.

“Given our schedules it should only be six years before I can manage that,” Tusin commented.

Theron nodded, “Speaking of, you should pack it in early. Marr is sending you out to the field again tomorrow isn’t he.”

“Clearing out my cousins and getting those locks undone.” Tusin leaned over to peck his cheek eyes dancing as he stood, “Goodnight, Theron.”

With that the man slipped away to the Imperial side of camp, likely to where his Fury was landed.

Theron watched after him, wondering if the grin he was currently wearing was as simultaneously dumb looking and attractive as the one that the Sith had given him. To the empty air he added: “Goodnight, Tusin.”

The name suited the playful Force-wielder better than ‘Nox’ did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tusin (somehow) managed to finish his story line as a Dark Sider, so got the title "Nox", but most times he's more neutral than anything.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Remember, writers as a species require the steady nourishment of affirmation and caffeine to survive! Writers are skilled at providing themselves caffeine but often require aid to locate affirmation.  
> Don't forget to comment/leave kudos if you enjoyed!


	4. Consequences - K. Videti [SW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kassandey Videti, Commander of the Alliance and formerly one of the Sith Warriors to be named the Emperor's Wrath, has a heart-to-heart with her advisor Lana Beniko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during KotFE.
> 
> Spoilery if you haven't finished "Anarchy in Paradise", this scene occurs right before the start of "Disavowed".  
> I just finished it with Kassie who is my first real Dark Sider so I felt inspired.

Lana caught the Commander staring out at the Gravestone. Or whatever the equivalent thereof was when one viewed the world through the Force alone – it was hard to remember that the Lord Wrath didn’t have eyes beneath that bone mask she wore over where they’d be on a human.

“Thinking about Koth again?” she asked gently.

That got a soft noise, “Lana, it was a mistake to give me command of this Alliance.”

The blond Sith frowned at the red head, was she really that shaken by this? No…this was doubts she’d held before. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

“I’m a killer, not a leader. I was _Vitiate_ ’s war hound, and Baras before him and Tremel before him. I don’t have what makes a good leader. I want blood, and I lash out at everything in my path. The Sith Empire _fell_ being led like that already.”

“You defeated Baras, led the Empire to victory on Makeb, ended the Revanite threat.”

“The victory on Makeb belongs to _Quinn_. Every decision, every major choice I asked Malavai what to do, I don’t do strategy. I hit problems until they’re broken at my feet. I wasn’t alone against the Revanites either. You never worked with me on my own, Lana, it was always me and Pyron and _he_ was the leader. You know that.”

Pyron Videti had been missing since the second year of the war. She and Theron had attempted to find the man who had been the other half of the Emperor’s Wrath to no avail, there was no body and no record of him in Zakuul. Theron thought he might be a prisoner somewhere within Zakuul but given their actions it seemed unlikely that Vaylin and Arcann wouldn’t have chosen to use the twins’ connection through the Force for their own advantage.

The Sith had started her in that his use of the Force felt like a Jedi. He was as powerful as his sister but not prone to her violence or temper. More likely to sacrifice himself or his objective for morals but definitely not

Malavai Quinn had disappeared from her sight as well. But Imperials were easily lost in the crowd of faceless bureaucrats made up the lifeblood of the empire. Malavai Quinn was efficient and skilled but he was not the sort of man to stand out in Lana’s opinion, in fact the only really notable things she remembered about the Captain was that he was married to Kassandey and that he had nice eyes.

Otherwise the quiet man had stayed in his Lord’s shadow, observing quietly unless she took the opportunity to ruffle his feathers in lulls between missions. She remembered Shan being shocked about how genuinely affectionate the twins were with their partners, especially considering that both had attempted to flirt with both him and her in attempts to make them lower their guards.

Still this was the first time she’d heard Kassandey speak of her husband aloud since she’d woken.

“…Valkorian showed me a vision of his death,” the red head said quietly. “I can’t stop seeing him dead even though I _know_ it’s not real. It can’t be. Then I got to know Koth while we were repairing the Gravestone. He reminded me of Quinn, I think. His loyalty, and the desire to do what was best for his people, for his Empire. But not at the cost of honor.”

“Didn’t he attempt to assassinate you?”

That earned a laugh, “Pyron nearly killed him for that, you know? There haven’t been many times my brother behaved like a Sith but when we landed on Corellia and he found out he would’ve killed him but I threw him across a hangar and Vette got between us. If Quinn wanted me dead I’d be dead – probably stabbed through the heart while in his bed. I crashed there often enough, and he always knew when the med droid had given me something to sleep.”

“We have agents looking for them – for them both,” Lana said gently.

She sighed, “I failed the Alliance with my call on Zakuul. I can’t fight this war as a Sith, but I don’t think I know how to be the Alliance Commander either.”

“You’re doing fine,” the blond reassured the other woman.

That got a shake of her head, “No, I’m not, but I’m going to do better. Can I trust you to help?”

“Of course,” she nodded. Then looked up to the Gravestone. “I’ll let you get back to your thoughts.”

The Sith Lord nodded to the other and Lana departed, passing Tora on her way over to talk to the Commander as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also decided with the Videti twins that their chapters will be denoted with their initials since "Kassandey" is a very long name. So "K. Videti" will now indicate that she's in the chapter while "P. Videti" goes for her twin brother.


	5. Bastard - Izar [BH]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gault notices something strange about his new meat shield, ah, employer while on Alderaan and decides to ask about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short is in the same time line as the Trickshot story but doesn't directly involve Claribel so I decided to leave it as its own.

Gault eyed the Bounty Hunter as he trailed him along on Alderaan. He’d been laying the uncouth thug persona on thick since he’d set foot on the planet, but he clenched his jaw every time a noble stepped out of line in the minor ways that should be imperceptible to anyone not aware of how this society operated.

“So, how’d you go from noble to slinging copious amounts of ammo for whoever pays anyways?”

“Bastard,” he replied, and for a moment the Devaronian thought he was being sworn at. But he caught the look in his eye. “I was never a noble. Ma owned this little farm. I had a younger half-sister and her father let me call him ‘Dad’ too, but the legitimate son caught wind that there was another potential heir.”

“Let me guess, tried to make sure you were out of the way and you put him down?”

“I wish,” was the bitter reply. “He’s inherited the title now. Sireyna – his full sister - was Force sensitive. Jedi aren’t supposed to hold lands so that took care of her, and I killed the guy who he had burn the farm. Wasn’t home when it happened, I was out hunting vorn tigers with some friends.”

“The big feline things?” Well, good to know that Izar had _always_ been crazy.

“The furs make a nice coat and the nobles don’t care much because they’re a nuisance,” he sighed. “I got back and found them dead, tracked the men who did it and put them down. My rifle got damaged in the fight and overloaded – that’s how I lost the eye.”

 Gault winced, glad that his new employer’s back was to him now– this wasn’t the conversation he’d expected when poking at the Hunter’s past – mostly he’d expected to be lied to or told to shut up, the way he talked it didn’t sound like Izar was lying about this. “So, where’d you pick up your skills?”

“Joined the army for a while. I served with House Organa since I’m from their vassal lands. I trained up well enough that my Commander was trying to talk me off the farm and going to the Republic army. Would’ve probably gotten a commission and sped through training to special ops of some sort. Or, with my luck, ended up not getting in the army and plucked for SIS work.”

“You a Republic bucket head, yeah that’ll be the day,” the scoundrel snorted.

That got him a grin as the hunter slowed, looking around to check the location of some enemies he’d spotted from around a corner. “If I were Republic I bet I’d already be in their top Spec Ops team and have even more ladies swooning.”

“And probably just the same luck with your Captain friend.”

“Can’t you guys do something better than eavesdrop on my holocalls?” he groaned.

The Devaronian grinned, “No, not really much else to do now that I’m semi-retired from the criminal swindling business.”

He wasn’t going to add that Izar’s ongoing long-distance flirtations with the freighter captain who’d annoyed Rogun the Butcher brought back memories of another gal with a fast ship who couldn’t help getting herself into trouble on other people’s behalves as she tried to pretend it was all about the money. Or the twinge of guilt that those memories brought.

Not yet anyways, maybe he’d tell the kid later on if he decided to stick around – so far the gig really was nice, apart from getting shot at all the time.

Seriously, he was a nice guy all told, how in the Corellian hells did Izar manage to get shot at even half this much?

An earsplitting whistle that _definitely_ caught the attention of the Rist patrol followed by his new meat-shield (uh, employer) firing a rocket into their midst answered that question. Maybe it should be more a wonder that Izar Nuncio managed to still be _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sireyna mentioned at the end is my second Jedi Knight. She's currently starting her SoR story-line but I'm neglecting her in favor of Izar and Kassie. 
> 
> Tend to get ideas to write with who I'm currently working on game content with. Kassie and Izzy being the ones I'm currently focused on.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are adored!


	6. Drinks with a Sith - Locke [SM] & Corso Riggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corso has to come to terms with what the Captain is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features my non-Force sensitive Sith Pureblood smuggler, Locke Dalsa having a chat with his generally anti-Imperial new second on Coruscant.

Corso had been quiet for a while – nursing his drink in a way that was becoming slightly worrying. Usually the kid was there trying to talk him out of getting into trouble by sweet talking the nearest gangster’s girl.

Or Jedi. Apparently he had developed a thing for hitting on Jedi. Two in one night was sort of…terrible. You’d think it’d be easier to notice the light sabers, hadn’t helped he’d tripped over the second one’s droid when the first one came up looking amused to find him hitting on her friend.

“Okay, kid, what’s wrong?”

“Y’know, I never saw a Sith, not a real one,” Corso muttered. “Not when I was with the Brigade, not on Ord Mantell.”

“If there were Sith on Ord Mantell things would be a lot worse than they are,” he pointed out. The bright red eyes were carefully guarded, he knew that Corso didn’t care much for Imperials, but he hoped that that extended to the ideal Imperial and not the folks like him who had managed to get free of the Empire.

His skin wasn’t red, instead a burnt orange color, and the most that he had of the classic facial tendrils of a Pureblood was a series of ridges that made his face appear more severe than he actually was.

“What’d you think I was anyway?”

“Don’t know, just figured you were a mix.”

“Well you’re not _wrong_ ,” he gave a short half-laugh, “Look – I’m not that kinda Sith, my father _was_ for all I never met the guy. Ma worked at a palace on Hutta, the Hutt was Imp-friendly and a Sith visited. Nine months later squalling orange Loricallus.”

“Loricallus?” apparently his ridiculous birth name was enough to distract the farm boy from fretting.

“Most folks on Hutta just called me ‘Lucky’,” he drawled.

“So can you, uh, you know?” he waved his hand the way one did to Force persuade.

That got a laugh, “No. No Force nonsense for me, if I had it I’d win a lot more don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Locke's my second Smuggler and at level 25 he's still a bit of a baby in terms of his story. He's a genuinely nice guy who works the smuggler job because it pays the bills and (used to) keep him out of the way of Jedi.
> 
> Also I'm adding a brand new character to my Legacy tonight (because I don't have too many already and also because I got Kassie through the Iokath story) so you will likely see my Miralian Imperial Agent show up soon.


	7. The Korrei Majors - J. Korrei [TR]/Aric Jorgan; J. Korrei [TR] & A. Korrei [TR]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aric Jorgan meets his wife's big brother for the first time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Mirialan troopers are brother and sister, that said in my stories the commander of Havoc Squad is always going to be Juvel.  
> I'll come up with a name for Abi's squad eventually....maybe...

“Home,” the Major stretched with a grin. The tiny woman was relaxed on Coruscant, eager to get back home and crash on the luxurious, large bed that they’d gotten set up _just_ before the call came in to chase Imperials on Ord Mantell again, and they’d been on Carrick when Theron approached them and the mess with Tython.

If he wasn’t looking forward to a bath – a proper tub – so much he would be wanting to curl up in that bed right away too.

“Head’s up, Mouse!” a voice hollered across the yard. They’d put down in a military hangar, planning on being planet side a while. A tame version of huttball had been being played by two squads on the other side, the ball now hurtling for his wife who jumped and caught it before sending it hurtling back at the thrower.

The big Mirialan laughed, catching it and tossing it to one of the others before trotting over to them. Aric recognized him from around, another Specforces commander. Not that the Cathar could remember the guy’s name.

Aric’s impression of the guy wasn’t aided when he swept his _wife_ up in a big bear hug, spinning her around like her armor and that monster of an assault canon she carried weighed nothing.

“Who’s this?” he managed not to growl – it couldn’t be known that they were together after all.

“Why, Major Korrei, you should introduce me to your XO,” the man said setting her down.

She grinned right back, “I’ll be sure to do that, Major Korrei. Aric, this is Abi Korrei, my brother. I told you about him before. Abi, this is Aric Jorgan.”

“Deadeye Jorgan?” the man tilted his head to the side, taking a good look at the Cathar. “Your people say good things about you, Aric. We’ll have to grab drinks and talk sometime – especially seeing as you’re so close to my baby sister.”

There was a dangerous hint at the smile.

She’d warned Aric that she had a big, protective family despite the lack of parents or a stable home that _she_ could remember.

Juvel had five elder siblings – although only four were still alive. Leinora Korrei had been killed during the outbreak of fighting on an outer rim planet. They’d gotten the news two months late.

That left…the eldest, a bounty hunter who had changed her name and they rarely heard from. The second eldest was Abisai, or Abi, and had had a respectable, if not quite so distinguished career in Specforces – Juvel had followed his and Leinora’s footsteps into the training. Leinora had been just after him in age. With the sister Itza, an analyst or administrator – some kind of paper pusher – here on Coruscant and the second brother Yul who did something for the SIS rounding out the elder sibling count.

He still wasn’t sure what Itza’s or Yul’s real names were.

“Finally heard from Verr – turns out she’s married now, can you believe it? Everyone but me and Yul are getting hitched.”

 “Wait, does that mean Itza finally popped the question to her girl?”

“Yeah, which you’d know if you bothered to keep in contact with anyone,” he punched her shoulder gently.

“How long are you planet side?”

“Month’s leave once the last of the team gets their physicals cleared.”

“Come by for dinner soon then – see who else you can scrounge up too, I know Yul won’t be able to make it but Itza’s administration, she _oughta_ be able to show.”

“Yeah, you two head home. I’ll give you a call once we’re cleared to leave the base or if they have us off hunting again.”

She grinned, clapped her brother on the shoulder and resumed her path towards the exit and home, with Aric trailing after her wondering if he’d be better prepared for the thought of the Korrei siblings if he’d had some of his own growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: The writer realizes that she's bad at updating tags but if I touch a topic or what not and forget to add a tag to this fic that should be there to provide folks warnings then please, please let me know. 
> 
> My "f" key has stopped working entirely so I've had to copy and paste every single "f" that I've used the last three days.
> 
> Explains the lack of activity, huh?
> 
> Anyways, back to trying to figure out what to do with Olasee's time on Balmorra for "How to Make Choices". May ignore canon and detour it into bringing Atin into the story....
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!!


	8. first night - P. Videti & K. Videti & Tusin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt:   
> Write about your character’s first night in the Sith Academy.
> 
> from: SWTOR Writing Prompts (located here: http://swtor-prompts.tumblr.com/post/133693828164/wp-11-21-2015)

A scream that sent ice through his veins woke him up with a start – it was nearby, coming from one of the other dormitory rooms. The scent of blood and fear that had surrounded this place since his arrival seemed to have only thickened with the night.

A figure lounged in a chair facing the sealed doorway between the two thin beds that filled the narrow room.

“Some of the older students eliminating a rival,” the young man was a few years older than the Pureblood, when he turned his head the dim light source caught on the thin black glass-and-wire of the glasses he wore instead of a mask to hide the lack of physical eyes.

Miraluka, and with considerable training already, Pyron Videti was able to sense what was happening beyond the door far easier than most. Well, his sister who had shifted slightly, her hand closing on the warblade on the bed with her, could sense it too but she wasn’t going to pretend to care enough to stay awake.

The pair had taken the former slave under their wing as soon as they arrived, saving him from another’s attempt to murder him and taking a more proper course for his instruction underwing than Harkun seemed interested in providing anyone but his pet free-born. He knew plenty about Sith from the way he’d grown up in their shadows – but had no idea how to _be_ one.

The Videti twins were essentially treated as one being – and having seen the two in battle against klor’slugs and looters that day while he threw lightning and occasionally flailed at one of the hideous rock-worms with his unfamiliar (and according to Kassie shoddy) vibroblade he knew why. The two worked as extensions of one another in battle, always aware of where the other was, providing support where one’s skills failed.

“The guards won’t stop it?”

“Why would they?” bitter amusement laced the other’s dry voice – there was rarely much inflection to the red haired man’s tone but he always seemed to be distinctly amused by _something_ and never keen on sharing what the joke was. “You should sleep – Harkun is not an easy Overseer and you will have to be beyond reproach and then some to avoid his wrath even with your skin.”

“Why’re you two helping me anyways?”

“Kassie says that we’ll need you – someday,” Pyron shrugged. “She’s crankier than a stung tukata when it happens – has a headache for days – but when she sees something it usually is worth paying attention to.”

“So, you’re helping me because your somewhat crazy sister had a vision that I would do _something_ to help _someday_.”

“Very good, you’re learning to be Sith already,” he teased, a smile playing on his lips. “Truthfully though, you’re a decent sort and there aren’t many of those around. I’d rather keep you in one piece and breathing just for that reason. Kassie’s the one who needs more convincing.”

“If you both don’t shut up I’m gonna kick your asses all the way to Tython,” Kassie growled from the other bed.

The two men turned their faces in her direction before Pyron shook his head slightly, “It’s a few hours until dawn yet, Tusin. Get some sleep.”


	9. Of Ghosts - Theron Shan/Tusin Shade [SI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Borrowed the concept of Tranquility from the Dragon Age universe.
> 
> Warning, this one is heavy on the angst.
> 
> "Of Ghosts" has now expanded into a (so far) three chapter story. I am going to do some minor edits (grammatical and spelling mostly) to what you find here and publish it as its own story.

“…The side effects are considerable acceptable given the risk posed by these individuals. The disasters at Belsavis and Oricon proved that leaving these individuals intact while in Republic custody was a terrible idea. Even with the Empire defeated…”

Truthfully Theron wasn’t paying very close attention to what the science drone was saying as he trailed behind the Supreme Commander. He wasn’t sure _why_ he had been called to this meeting – although given the dark expression that the Barsen’thor had on he probably should be paying closer attention. That was his ‘who thought planet-killing superweapons were a good idea?!’ expression.

“Please tell me this is entirely theoretical, Supreme Commander,” the Jedi’s voice lacked most of his usual warmth – a tone usually reserved for Moffs that bombarded civilian population centers or Sith that unleashed atrocities. “To go through with such a plan would be barbaric, whether used on the Sith or not. Such methods are below the Republic.”

The scarred Commander frowned at the Jedi, “Master Jedi, your Order let the Sith Empire return once before, we will not take that risk again. The directive has already been utilized against a number of high-value, high-danger targets with considerable success.”

They turned a corner and were admitted into the cell block.

This one was set up mostly for medical care and surveillance. The prisoners subjected to this new program evidently not a risk of escape. Theron did a quick count – about ten cells…that many powerful Sith at close quarters and even non-force sensitives _should_ be feeling the almost overwhelming pressure that dark side wielders could exert on their surroundings.

There wasn’t anything except the on-edge feeling that extremely sterile, hospital-like environments gave off all on their own. Crisp and white, well-lit it looked more like an asylum than a prison.

“We believe that the subjects may be able to live as productive members of society, if provided the necessary care to account for their condition. Subject Three, for example would make an excellent addition to an archival staff given his extensive historical knowledge.”

The drone stopped in front of one of the cells to open it.

The interior was just as pristine as the exterior. Small, mostly comfortable cell.

The prisoner was dressed in a dull grey-white prison uniform, and sat perfectly still on the bed, not in a meditation pose but upright, his back slightly slouched, his eyes on the floor.

Theron stepped forward not even realizing what he was doing, shock sending a cold emptiness through his gut.

The most powerful surviving Imperial Sith…the one that had always been almost no danger to Republic interests as Sith politicking had kept him too busy to care about the Republic. The Sith who had gone from slave to Dark Councilor and then galactic hero following his defeat of Revan on Yavin…

Darth Nox.

The man he wasn’t supposed to fall in love with – the one that wasn’t supposed to love him but had anyways.

“Tusin?” it took him a moment to realize the name had come from his lips, as he knelt in front of the Sith Lord.

In the past there’d always been a smile, even when he was being scolded for his behavior by Darth Marr he’d spared Theron a smile. His bright golden eye lively and intelligent now looked at him with an empty sort of recognition.

The Sith had always held himself statue still when not occupied with a task, perfectly rigid unless he was making an effort to appear relaxed. Behavioral hallmarks left over from his early life, but the lack of movement now was different.

“Theron Shan,” the dull voice held none of the playful fondness that had colored the way that the Sith had said his name in the past. “I remember you.”

He’d been tortured before, but he couldn’t remember anything that hurt as much as the ache in his chest right now. Hot tears pricked at his eyes as he touched one of his sharp cheek bones, tracing his  thumb over the barely perceptible ridging there – less prominent than in some Sith but there to the touch.

“Theron? _Son_ ,” Jace’s voice and a hand clamping on his shoulder startled him out of his stunned reaction.

He jerked away from his father, anger flaring. “You did this! He _surrendered_ , he trusted the Republic to be _better_ than the Sith and _this_ is what that gets him. How could you?!”

Jace frowned, “He was the enemy, Theron. The Jedi said that there was no hope of redeeming these prisoners. They were too dangerous to lea-“

The only reason the punch didn’t connect was because a gentle force push shoved the two apart.

“Commander,” the Barsen’thor’s silver-gray eyes held an emotion strangely close to anger, and he spoke with a tone of finality that confirmed the Jedi’s boundless patience had run thin. “Please leave us for now. I will talk to Theron, but it would be best if you were not here for now…”

Yellow eyes had passed between all those who entered the cell.

“Val,” Theron looked to the Jedi, hoping he wasn’t going to get a lecture about his emotions. The silver haired healer was in many regards one of the few Jedi he’d known to strictly adhere to the code.

“No lectures,” the healer promised, turning his eyes to Tusin. It was sometimes difficult to read the expressions the Jedi wore, he didn’t emote strongly, but it was clear there was sorrow written there.

“…is he in pain like this?” Theron asked anger dying into a twisted sick feeling in his chest. “Is there a way to fix this?” If anyone knew how to mend something through the force it’d be this Jedi, wouldn’t it?

“I think he is but he can’t feel it,” the Jedi answered at last. “As to healing what has been done…we will find a way, Theron.”

Theron turned his gaze onto the soulless Sith Pureblood that had been Tusin Shade.

The gold eyes met his, “I remember, before everything went silent. I was sad that I would never buy you that drink. I think that I might have loved you before, Theron Shan.”

Another knife sank into his heart and twisted, dully the agent agreed: “Yeah….yeah, you might’ve.”

Once he’d chosen the Republic over this man, let him walk away back to the games of Sith politics and the hopeless push for peace. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, as always.
> 
> I should get back to the fluff soon...
> 
> Remember to comment and/or leave a kudos! I promise, all fic writers love to get them.


	10. Weakness - Videti Family [SW]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Videti family time! Adair Videti and his wife train his children.
> 
> Also known as: How Kassie got her scar and Sith make terrible parents...really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, unhealthy families are kind of par for course for the Sith. Adair probably isn't as bad as some but this isn't a healthy family relationship.
> 
> If you feel that more specific trigger warnings are necessary please let me know and I'll add them.

The pair of adults circled the younglings like predators. They wore simple clothes, both dressed as if for light exercises, the youngsters wore padding – something that Adair would have had them forego but there were times when Jazlyn’s early upbringing made her a little more protective of their children. He wondered if she truly understood, sometimes, how much suffering the twins would face for what they were.

The Videti line stretched far back into the Empire’s history, running strong with the force – generation after generation being born with the bright red skin of the Pureblood Sith. Then the Jedi, not much more than a Padawan, falling to the darkness in a blaze of death on the battlefield had caught his eye. His children were the first to be born lacking the red skin, instead taking their mother’s complexion, for all their hair was the same blood-red that his was.

“On your feet,” he commanded.

He had fallen in love – and he _did_ love his children, but they needed to be forged into something that would survive the Empire which they were born to serve.

Kassie was the first to push to her feet, snarling as she reset her grip on the vibroblade. Anger boiled and churned around her, feeding her presence in the Force. She took a defensive stance over her brother as he dragged himself to his feet, holding his weapon tightly but improperly – anger and frustration coursing through him.

Jazz held her hand out to him, signaling him that she wanted to try something else, perhaps seeing something through her Force sight that he couldn’t detect.

The Pureblood’s pale eyes studied her before he nodded, lowering his weapon, “Your mother has a task for you, children.”

His wife nodded, deactivating her blades. “You two have fought us enough. You will face each other instead.”

Kassie’s expression changed instantly, a frown, and a furrow in her brows (there was no point in them wearing masks in their own home so all three Miraluka forwent them). Nervousness, anxiety – reluctance even flooded through her. They’d not faced one another except for in coordinated practice spars where each movement was assigned to them.

Pyron was a different story, confusion but also ambition – a chance to prove that Kassie wasn’t the only one worthy of the Videti name. Competition was natural among the Sith, and with a twin that competition had started at day one – at least for the brother. Not that he didn’t care for his sister, he simply wanted to prove that he was better.

While they had remained twins in most their skills Kassie had a stronger connection to the Force. Any ability of foresight was difficult to understand or control but having it at all was rare enough that it marked her potential.

Still the two assumed their start positions.

“Begin,” their mother commanded before she circled to stand beside him to watch.

He lowered his voice so that they might not hear, “Why have them face each other? Their opponents will not be so skilled.”

She shook her head, lips tightening with her irritation at how slow the process of training young warriors was, “They do not coordinate with each other, half the time they trip over one another but they are bonded in the Force. They should know where the other is without having to think about it.”

He turned his attention back to his children sparring – the youngsters were still Sith as much as they were Miraluka despite their appearances. One of them was growing frustrated with the lack of progress as they danced and circled.

Kassie despite her aptitude for channeling the dark side preferred more defensive forms, willing to wait her opponent out for a mistake as she conserved energy. Pyron was the one that tried to end things quickly, heavily favoring the acrobatic hawk-bat form.

He would start young Pyron on using a weapon with each hand, it would suit his aggressive style better.

For the time being he watched the two, their mirrored styles making it difficult for either of them to be capable of landing any sort of blow against the other. Young as they were he’d had them training on saber forms nearly as soon as they could walk – they were both capable of holding their own against most of what the Republic might throw at them…but it wasn’t the Jedi that would threaten them the most.

A sudden shove in the Force and Kassie was put off balance stumbling to defend against a series of rapid attacks. Unset by the force push and unable to regain her footing under the assault she stumbled over her own feet, and couldn’t get the blade up in time to stop Pyron’s from slashing down her face.

Jazz was gone in an instant, vanishing into the shadows and then driving Pyron back from his prey, in case the bloodlust was too much to stop him from finishing his twin.

Adair crossed the room to where Kassie had placed a trembling hand over the deep cut. On a species like himself or a human the injury would have destroyed her right eye. Still it was a bad wound, and he could sense the shock curling around her mind, dimming her emotions.

Not just hers – Pyron had thrown his weapon away, trembling as he backed away from his sister and it, before turning and fleeing.

He gathered his daughter into his arms, carrying her to where their medical droid could take care of her. He gave no comforting words for her – she had been weak and this pain was her own doing – but he held her hand as the droid began its work, letting her fingers, dwarfed by his own hold on while the droid worked.

Later that evening with his wife leaned comfortably against his side as he listened quietly to music and he read reports from the projects that his Master had entrusted to him. “Why have them face each other?”

An irritated noise made him smile despite himself – Jazlyn was as impatient with him as the day he’d made her his apprentice. “Pyron will never be a true Sith. He will break before that will happen,” she sounded irritated – more at herself than him as she spoke. “Kassandey will be the one to carry your legacy, my love, but only if her desire to protect can be set aside.”

“He will be a Sith – he is descended from a great line of them, he will not fail.”

“He is the grandson and great-grandson of _Jedi_ fools as well,” she replied, irritably. “Enough of this, when do we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Rest, Jazz, I am certain that where Lord Vowrawn sends us will have plenty of prey for your blade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adair and Jazlyn are part of the Sith power structure, well established enough to live a comfortable life but not with a lot of pull in the political games. They're content to serve their patron's designs and train the next generation of Sith while doing their duty to the Empire.  
> Was originally going to make their patron Marr but decided that them being a part of Vowrawn's power structure was more amusing because I could picture Baras being petty enough to take both Videti apprentices just to keep them from serving Vowrawn and killing the one he didn't take wouldn't be an option if he wanted the other to be a useful tool.


	11. An Idiot's Array - Claribel [SM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fulfilled from the list meme thing I made on Tumblr for a Nonnie.

“Captain, you’re sulking,” Lana sighed, trying not to pinch the bridge of her nose _again_ that day. With Koth’s crew working on the Gravestone things were looking better around the place – or at least the lights no longer flickered wildly and the Captain wasn’t compulsively checking on the life support systems every hour.

The Sith had every faith in Koth’s abilities and that of his crew.

“I am _not_ ,” she huffed at Lana before grimacing and inputting which deck she was going to into the elevator controls, “Okay, maybe I am – a little.”

“What is on your mind?”

“Besides Valkorian?” she joked just as the lift ground to halt and the lights flickered ominously. “Uh…the lift isn’t supposed to do that, right?”

Lana frowned and tapped her com, “Koth, there’s something wrong with the lift to the hangar bay.”

“Yeah, uh, about that. We were rerouting power and we seem to have cut it off somehow.”

“’We’?” Tora’s voice scoffed in the background.

“How long’s it gonna be, Koth?” Claribel asked.

“And _don’t_ say three minutes,” Lana added.

The smuggler laughed at that, sitting down to lean against the wall – a ship this big, especially one without a handy manual from its builders, it would be a while. Another reason to miss her _Blurrg –_ she knew every circuit on that stupid ship.

“Don’t know, but we’ll work on getting you out of there soon as we can,” the naval captain was saying. “Hang tight.”

If Lana were anyone else but the ever composed Sith Lord that she was she might’ve groaned. Instead she glanced at the Captain who was busy searching the multitude of pockets on her vest for something.

“Here we are!” she grinned, pulling out two dried pallie bars and passing one to Lana.

The Sith eyed the food, “This wasn’t in carbonite with you was it?”

“What? Noooo, I ate those before we got to Asylum,” she snorted. “I restocked when I was out looking for Tora.”

Lana sat down across from her, unwrapping the snack bar. It was a childish sort of treat, overly sweet but the smuggler didn’t care much for subtle flavors so that was to be expected. “You are bothered by having Valkorian in your mind, aren’t you?”

The smuggler scowled a little, “You know, when people deflect with jokes you’re supposed to let them. That’s the polite thing to do, Lanaaa,” she drew the name out teasingly before taking a bite of her snack.  “I’m a smuggler, I’m supposed to be annoying Hutts and cheating folk out of their money at the Sabacc table not the galaxy’s last hope of salvation. I _never_ wanted to be depended on, I didn’t want to get trapped being the only one who stood between hundreds of people living or dying.”

Lana studied her again: “You involved yourself in a lot for someone who doesn’t care.”

“Never said I don’t care,” she grumbled, propping her knee up. “Just don’t want the responsibility. If I did I wouldn’t have run off when I worked out that I was being groomed to be a Cipher and what that meant.”

“You don’t talk much about your Imperial background,” Lana murmured – it was only _after_ Yavin she’d discovered that Claribel had Imperial connections. Had she not spent her days in Sith Intelligence working closely with the woman’s father – the infamous Cipher Two – she may not have believed it.

She gave a slight shrug, “Not much to say. I didn’t want the life so I smuggled myself to Hutt space and used the skills I’d been taught to disappear. Got some blasters, stole a ship, crashed it, made a lot of really stupid decisions, bought the _Blurrg,_ and the rest you should know. I’m just a gal that got lucky with my gun and unlucky with where I was. You want to save the galaxy you get a Jedi, not a spice-runner.”

Lana tried not to laugh – the ridiculousness of the statement, “Clari, you can’t _really_ believe that, can you?”

Seeing the green eyes looking thoroughly unimpressed with her.

“Force preserve me,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’d seen the signs of these doubts on Zakuul but the revelation about Valkorian being in residence in the smuggler’s mind had distracted her. “You realize you already _have_ saved the galaxy? Or at least thousands of lives. On a number of occasions?”

Green eyes narrowed at her.

“The pirate fleet for Corellia, the battle over Rishi, and Yavin.”

“Didn’t save anyone on Ziost.”

“There were Jedi on Ziost who failed as well,” Lana countered. “Clari – you _can_ do this.”

The brown haired smuggler opened her mouth to refute the statement but the lift hummed into movement again. The door opening to an apologetic looking Koth.

“You two okay?” he asked them.

“We’re good,” Claribel nodded before looking to Lana as she got to her feet. She glanced at Koth then back to Lana, “I _know_ there are people who could do a better job of saving the galaxy, Lana, but you’ve got me so, I guess, we’re going for an Idiot’s Array.”

Without giving time for Lana to answer or to explain the statement to the confused looking Koth the Captain vanished around a corner, probably making for the market or cantina to try and get information on _her_ old contacts and see if she could get messages out to her former crew.


	12. Arcere - Arcann & Aydin Olasee [IA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from that meme list thing I did on Tumblr.

The footsteps approaching drew him out of his meditation, at first he thought it might be Senya but there was no Force signature to indicate the approaching individual was his mother or any of the Jedi or Sith that the Commander had drawn to his cause.

Even with the threat of Zakuul removed by his claiming the Eternal Throne many of Dak Izma’s powerful allies had opted to remain with the Alliance rather than return to their respective factions in the outlanders’ ongoing war between Republic and Empire.

The silent stranger settled down across from him, a long jacket or robe brushing the ground with the movement.

He hadn’t _sensed_ any danger from the stranger, which wasn’t as comforting as it might have been when he opened his eyes to find a Mirialan turning a vibroknife over in his hand, bright red eyes pensive. With that species it was possible the red eyes were natural not the influence of the dark side but knowing _who_ this was didn’t assuage any more fear than the lack of bloodlust directed at him had.

If he had to guess this was Aydin Olasee.

The man was something of a mystery, though his name signed off a large number of reports delivered to Lana and Theron, he was rarely at the base for long in the past. Something that he’d overheard Lana apologize to the Commander about…

“We haven’t been introduced,” the accent was the clipped tones of the Imperial capital. The smile was friendly – _too_ friendly. “You are Arcann, are you not?”

“You already know the answer to that,” he replied – keeping his eyes on the blade.

The spy gave a soft snort, “Well, maybe. I’m called Aydin.”

Arcann glanced around, outside here was the grassy area where the Commander’s personal starship usually sat but was currently absent. Other than the Jedi Master Valirek Silver, seeking the same sort of solitude he had come out here for, it was rare to see anyone out here without them having a specific task to carry out. Right now no one was about besides the two of them.

He thought he caught a flash of red in the doorway – Theron making sure no one was being murdered? That seemed…unlikely given the Republic spy’s feelings towards him.

“I asked about you – Val claims that you have ‘healed yourself of your suffering’, Cadera says you saved him from Vaylin, Dak tells me that he rather have you where he can watch you while you atone, Lana thinks you’re useful. Theron gave me a non-answer, which is practically spy speak for ‘I don’t know’, or he’s still annoyed about the time I sliced his mail to send Hylo and Oggurobb love poetry. Not really sure which.”

“I there a reason you are talking to me?”

“I came out to see if I needed to kill you because I don’t know you and considering what you’ve done, who you _were_ I don’t like the idea of you at Dak’s back.” All the faux-friendliness dropped and with it Arcann finally felt he presence of a potentially murderous intent.

He looked away – considering what he’d done to the Alliance, to the Core Worlds he had no right to even desire trust. Still there was something different about this threat than the others that had been laid before him.

“You are very devoted to the Commander.”

A soft laugh and glimpse at what lay behind the façade vanished beneath another lazily friendly smile, “That would be a way of phrasing it, I suppose.”

“I am watched already, Master Spy. Your Commander has chosen to trust me for now, that is all the assurance I can think to offer.”

“Trust me, _Dak’s_ trust not going to help you win any confidence,” the spy drawled. “Between dating an Imperial Spy and recruiting your father’s personal butcher Dak had disqualified himself from ever being considered for any measure of good judgement long before you decided to cause problems.”

Arcann frowned – not sure what this man wanted.

Aydin switched which hand held the knife lazily watching, studying him. “Do you remember them?”

“Who?” the inquiry was guarded.

“The innocent ones – the ones you couldn’t rationalize but killed anyways because that what was expected, what had to be done. The hope of approval, orders, expectations, whatever pressure pushed you to do it.”

Arcann grimaced and looked away from those red eyes suddenly too like the color of blood, thinking of the five worlds that he had allowed Vaylin to bombard, “I can’t remember them all – there are too many.”

“And redemption?”

“Impossible. Not for what I’ve done.”

“Huh,” the noise sounded almost impressed, the Mirialan watching him with a curious expression.

His brows furrowed – unsure how to respond to that, some in the Alliance had promised him redemption was possible, others claimed that nothing he did could help and that the Commander should have killed him.

“You’re not what I expected,” the spy confessed after a moment before he sheathed the vibroknife into his jacket. “Although if you were anything like what I expected I was going to shoot you, so there’s that.” Propping his knee up a bit he leaned his elbow against it and set his chin in his palm.

“Do you usually tell people when you’ve planned to murder them?”

“Only about half the time,” he grinned brightly. “And _planning_ is hardly the same as trying. If I was going to actually kill you I’d have waited until Dak was around. You’re a powerful Force user, I’m not a sniper so I’d need help or a _lot_ more motivation than ‘you ran my boyfriend through after locking him in carbonite’.”

Despite himself Arcann laughed – the motivation given was plenty of reason but something _else_ entirely had changed the Mirialan’s mind. “Do you tell lies to everyone?”

The Mirialan grinned brightly, “Almost everyone, yes. Never Dak. Not usually my friends.” He hopped to his feet in a smooth motion before adding: “Maybe try smiling more often? People will think you still want to kill them you go around with that grim expression of yours all the time.”


	13. nsfw! Untitled - Theron Shan/Tusin Shade [SI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is smut based on a prompt meme fill on tumblr for the lovely DarthYaoi.

Tusin leaned his head back against the metal, watching Theron pacing back and forth in the dim light. The lift had been broken down for nearly half an hour. The main annoyance was that this was the one night for the last week and a half that they’d both managed to completely clear their schedules so they could have a relaxing dinner together and enjoy their night.

Theron had planned to get a private room at the cantina so they could eat without half a dozen people coming by to talk to Tusin. Not that their plans for romantic evenings ever actually worked out like they planned – at least Valkorian seemed quiet for once though Tusin could sense him at the back of his mind like an ever-present itch.

Theron was a more private person than Tusin had ever managed to learn to be so he hadn’t planned on taking advantage of their being trapped in a small space, tempting as it was.

Still, the pacing did little to calm Theron’s nerves.

The Sith rose to his feet and caught the other man’s hand, pulling him into a hug. “Stop, you’re making me dizzy going back and forth like this.”

“I’m alright,” Theron muttered, recognizing what Tusin was doing. “It’s just frustrating. Things are always coming up, and it’s like you never get a chance to have time that _you_ choose what to do.”

Tusin hummed softly under his breath, thinking, “You’ve been talking to Agent Olasee again.”

“He’s six feet of green annoyance but he has a point – when was the last thing you chose to do simply because you wanted to?”

Tusin kissed Theron before grinning, his forehead still pressed against Theron’s. “Just now.”

The agent blushed, “I, uh…”

“I love you, Theron Shan,” he smiled. “And I have chosen you – and will continue to do so – for the rest of my life.” However long that might last. Valkorian was far more powerful than the other Sith ghosts had been, and he knew the damage that _they_ had managed to wreck on his mind and body.

“I just…the Alliance, saving the galaxy, I don’t want you to feel trapped by it,” the spy muttered.

“I know, and I don’t. We _are_ taking a vacation when this mess is dealt with, but I really am content. As long as you’re here anyways.”

Theron’s eyes flicked away, old doubts plaguing him, it still seemed unreal that he could be the most important thing to someone. Tusin chose him over everything and he wasn’t sure how to handle being what mattered most to someone. The Sith was entirely unashamed of the fact that on Theron’s behalf he would scorch planets – and he probably _had_ the means to do so – and the spy wasn’t sure he should find that as sexy as he did.

“We’re stuck in an elevator and you still sound like you’re the happiest man in the galaxy,” Theron muttered.

“Oh, I’d have cut my way out if you weren’t here. I rather like being ‘stuck’ with you.” He leaned in, kissing the edge of his jaw, then down his neck, working down to the crook of Theron’s neck, gently slipping the jacket half off to give himself room as he worked on leaving a mark on his boyfriend while pushing him back against the lift’s door.

“Tusin,” Theron’s voice was breathy, but held enough of a protesting edge to make him pull back, gold eyes meeting the brown ones in the darkness.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He could see the internal debate – Theron knew there was a chance at any moment the power might return and their comrades would get the door open, and he didn’t want to be caught but if his memories from Yavin served the possibility of being caught did little to dissuade the spy once he decided what he wanted.

Theron muttered under his breath and pulled Tusin in for another kiss, his hands fisting in the material of the black robes that made up almost the entirety of his boyfriend’s wardrobe. (The Sith claimed finding anything that went with his skin color was too much trouble.)

Tusin grinned, kissing him back letting Theron take the lead there as he worked the jacket off and then slid his hands down Theron’s side, to start working his pants open, a hand slipping in to stroke Theron just as the Sith nipped his bottom lip lightly.

Theron nipped back but uttered a soft moan as Tusin’s fingers worked him harder.

“You were plotting how to do this,” he accused breathlessly.

Tusin’s laugh was warm, full of the affection, “Perhaps. Complaints?” he broke the kiss to nip Theron’s earlobe and return to making sure the mark he’d started was going to be dark enough on Theron’s skin to take a while to disappear.

“None,” he moaned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, enjoying the feeling of the other’s teeth brushing over his throat and the kisses

 Not for the first time (or the last, he figured) was he a little frustrated that Tusin’s robes were deceptively more complex to get on and off than they looked and right now with the Sith’s attentions fully on him he didn’t have the presence of mind to work them free. Instead he ran one of his hands through Tusin’s dark red hair, leaving it a mess, and kept his other arm wrapped around the Sith’s shoulders as he pressed against the metal of the door.

Something must’ve told the Sith their time was running out because he brought Theron to his completion rather than teasingly draw the process out until Theron was practically begging for it as he preferred to do when they had the time and privacy for it.

As Theron was catching his breath – or trying to, watching Tusin lick his hand clean while holding his gaze was _not_ helping get his thoughts back in order – the lights flicked back on and the lift slid down the few feet it needed to reach the floor they’d meant to get off on and he would’ve fallen backwards as the door opened if Tusin hadn’t managed to grab a hold of his waist.

Except Tusin wasn’t a warrior whose physical prowess and reflexes were something to be admired. The pair stumbled, nearly knocking into Vette who’d been the one to manage to get power restored to the lift and the doors to open and going down in a tangle. Theron blushing so hard that he nearly matched his boyfriend’s skin color.

The blue skinned Twi’lek took in their disheveled states and grinned, “I can lock it back up again if you two weren’t done.”


	14. Bad Choices; Bad Pick Up Lines - Aydin Olasse [IA]/Dak Izma [JK]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill from tumblr.
> 
> May come back and write a longer version of this with smut but this is the best version I've been able to poke into line so far.

Dak Izma placed a hand on his forehead, leaning against the bar, his drink half empty as he tried _not_ to think. Getting drunk in the Slippery Slopes was probably not the best coping mechanism for dealing with his failure regarding Agent Galen but he’d never been a good Jedi – meditating his feelings away wasn’t going to help and going out looking for a fight to burn off the agitated energy that came with the frustration – he should have been able to do _something_ – was even less so.

“I think you must’ve mind-tricked me already because you’re the handsomest man in the room,” the accent was Imperial which got his defenses up immediately as he turned to face the speaker, not quite sure what to expect.

A man looking for a fight with a Jedi probably wouldn’t have chosen to open with a truly terrible pick-up line, but he still tensed for a fight anyways as he turned to look at who had spoken.

The speaker wasn’t what he’d expected hearing the voice either. He’d thought to turn and face a human in a crisp Imperial uniform. Instead he was looking up into a pair of amused bright red eyes, framed by patterns of diamond shaped black tattoos that stood out against the warm green of the man’s skin tone.

Mirialan. And _very_ handsome.

“That’s not how the Force works,” the blond haired Zabrak scowled, turning back towards the bar.

The reply earned him a laugh and the other alien flagged down the bartender, ordering himself a drink and getting Dak another as well.

“I’m Aydin,” he grinned, eyes trailing over Dak. “What’s your name Master Handsome-but-Grumpy Jedi?”

For a moment he considered telling the other to get lost – it’d been a long day and a part of him had wanted to keep sulkingly considering what his life would be like if he wasn’t a Jedi – but the prospect of a distraction was welcome so despite himself he permitted himself to try a smile:

“It’s just ‘Dak’ tonight.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that you’re ever ‘just’ anything, Dak,” Aydin smiled, picking up his glass. “To nights off from impossible jobs?”

“Especially those with handsome company,” the Jedi replied, raising his glass in return.


	15. Promises - Aydin Olasee [IA]/Dak Izma [JK]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is nsfw but it's pretty mild. Nudity and kissing. I /may/ write out the smut that this scene leads into later on but for now I don't feel like it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in proper Jedi robes,” Aydin considered amusedly. For once they were on his ship, not Dak’s.

He’d put on pants, mainly because he’d had to step outside the cabin to yell at Kaliyo who had been threatening to shook Lokin while Vector tried to be the diplomat and calm them. Scorpio had watched on in as she always did – in interested but still condescending silence. Raina had made herself scarce, not unusual when such things happened – dealing with his crew was quite a change from the Chiss.

Dak, glad to leave his own colorful crew to their own devices for the night, had opted to remain sans clothes. The blanket pulled up to his hips but he was stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under the pillow, half-asleep despite the noisiness from before. Not that the knight’s ability to sleep through such chaos was objectively surprising, having met the man’s crew and when he was awake the blond was in near constant motion.

Aydin let his eyes trail the muscular shoulders. Dak’s skin was a pale cream color accented nicely by the grays and black lines of the Zabrak tattoos that stretched from around his neck down his shoulders to fade away above his hips. They were more extensive than some Zabrak’s tattoos but he liked the way the simple geometric lines and shading served to accent the contours of the fit body both on his back and chest.

The Zabrak laughed into the pillow, turning his head to look at the other: “You don’t see me _in_ any clothes very often, at least not for long.”

“This is true,” Aydin grinned, leaning over to press a kiss on the side of his head just below one of his horns. “I’m rather fond of that too – by the way.”

“Me too,” the Jedi agreed his head turned so one green eye was watching him, the other remaining closed.

Aydin hummed a note under his breath, “It doesn’t bother you, not being able to go out and do things properly with us dating?”

The Jedi pushed himself up a little, confusion written in the creases of his face. “What do you mean?”

“Like restaurants or going to catch a holomovie or the theater, we can’t even really spend time in Cantinas together,” he replied hesitantly, not sure what was confusing about that.

Dak shook his head, shifting to sit upright, the blanket falling distractingly away. “I know that but we’re _dating_?”

“…well…we’ve been sleeping together over a year now, despite that if we get caught that’s at _least_ prison time. I’ve met most your friends, you’ve met my friend and work associates. We have a private encrypted com line set up to chat about random topics,” Aydin said slowly – was this _not_ serious for the Jedi?

He knew some of them took the non-attachments thing pretty seriously but he’d seen how worried Dak had been when the Imperial programming was slowly driving him insane. He’d fallen hard for the Jedi, but hadn’t really put it together until the man had vanished and he’d managed to get to the one location off the Emperor’s station that the young Jedi-turned-Sith-acolyte had been allowed.

Not that he would ever tell Dak what he knew of the six months which the Jedi said he couldn’t remember. The blond woke sobbing from nightmares some nights though so the Agent wasn’t sure if it was the truth or that Dak _couldn’t_ remember because doing so would shatter him.

He loved Dak.

It would break his heart if the Jedi hadn’t thought that there was something special between them. Or that now that the idea hung in the air between them it was going to be the end.

The Jedi frowned a little, “But we still sleep with other people.”

“Yeah, we both have one night stands, and I like to use seduction in my work but sleeping with someone’s different from dating them – I _care_ about you, about what you’ve done that day, about hearing your voice as you tell me about your sparring sessions even though I still don’t know what half your light-saber forms are.”

He blushed – yellow-green skin taking on a slightly brown tone as he did so - realizing that Dak was staring at him with an odd expression and he’d been talking too long: “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the Zabrak moved, straddling his waist and kissing him softly. “I love you too. I _like_ the idea we’re dating, I just was just surprised that you’d considered this that, and that you _want_ the rest of the relationship, not just the sex.”

He ran a hand up through the blond hair, brushing a thumb against the base of one of the horns in a way that made Dak’s eyes half-lid and tilt his head into the touch.

“Why would that surprise you?”

“Still a Jedi – everyone knows we’re crap at relationships.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not sure spies are any better,” he grinned before kissing his boyfriend _._ That had a nice mental ring to it – _boyfriend_. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Corellia. They both had their orders to report to the manufacturing planet.

Aydin was even less inclined to obey his new Sith master than he had been Jadus or Zhorrid. There was a part of him that wanted to abandon it all, to fall in at Dak’s back and be there to watch over him in the shadows. He was expecting the Star Cabal to finish the job of getting him out of their hair though – Dak had enough trouble without an organization like that getting him in their crosshairs because he had been standing behind the Jedi.

“You know I can’t promise you that,” fingers threaded through his own black hair. “Not anymore than you could promise me.”

The spy muttered an unintelligible complaint – probably about Dak’s unwillingness to lie - under his breath.

“I promise you, I will do my best to return to you, you have to do the same though.”

“This might be the only time I’ve made a promise I intended to keep,” Aydin joked, his red colored gaze betraying the worries he had: “I promise you, Dak, I’ll try to come back to you. Not just now, but always.”

“Always,” Dak agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciate!
> 
> Also if you have a request or would like to see any of my crazies in a particular scenario drop by my tumblr, aly-the-writer, with an ask or just to say hi. Any questions about the characters' backgrounds can be answered over there too. ^^


	16. Lost One - Aydin Olasee [IA]/Dak Izma [JK]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the period between the Jedi Knight's capture by the Emperor and his escape.

Vector’s lips were drawn into a tight grimace as they picked their way through yet another burnt out settlement. The Empire was not kind to its conquered worlds, both of them weren’t foolish enough to believe that it was, but the burn out husks and the charred corpses of the fourth village they had trialed this group to was sickening.

“Agent, we are uncertain it is wise to continue this course of action,” Vector murmured as he crouched to turn over a woman, the laser-cut of a light saber slashed down her front and provided a clear cause of death. “Your aura spikes are becoming increasingly distressed.”

“I’m sure yours are as well,” the Mirialan sighed, turning his crimson colored eyes skyward. “If you wish to return to the ship you may, Vector…I need to be certain.”

The Joiner’s fathomless eyes studied him quietly, the diplomat considering the options. “We do not believe that the answer you find will help.”

He tried a smile for his friend – Vector was the only one on the crew he’d ever thought to give that particular title to – though he knew that the exhausted, drained expression he wore was closer to showing how dangerous his heart was to breaking than he would ever have wanted. “Yeah, you’re probably right, but…I _have_ to know.”

Vector nodded, “We would not leave you here in this alone, let us continue.”

The two men continued through the ravished settlement in silence, reaching the edge of the town and continuing to follow the tracks left by those responsible for this destruction.

The word had come through the grapevine of informants that the agent had managed to establish – the Imperial Guard had shuttled a young Sith to the planet under heavy guard as if it were meant to be secret. He’d already tracked two of the Jedi Strike team down as operating within the Imperial structure now, but in the months since the Hero of Tython had vanished there’d been _nothing_ on the youngest member of the strike team.

No interrogation records. No sightings. No gloating reports of the young Jedi’s death.

No new pale Zabrak acolytes on Korriban.

Not a damn thing to indicate where in the damn galaxy Dak Izma was.

Not since the message that had appeared across their encrypted line from the man himself:

_I don’t have time or privacy to call, but I had to talk to you anyways. I have a bad feeling._

_I know the Force stuff is just a bunch of wild nonsense to you – very dangerous nonsense – but still just nonsense. This still feels like one of **those** feelings…so I had to tell you some things before it was too late._

_I don’t know what’s wrong, but I know there’s something happening with you, and I’d hoped I could help you be_ fore now but _I’ve run out of time, we’re about to jump to hyperspace. To the Emperor’s fortress. Damn it, there’s too much to say._

_I hope this isn’t goodbye but I don’t have any delusions here, probably going to die. Since this is most likely goodbye…just:_

_Aydin – I love you. Thank you._

There was a very real possibility that Dak was already dead when Aydin had read the goodbye, but it was a possibility the Agent was refusing to face. If the Jedi was truly lost then he wasn’t sure if he could convince himself that there was a point to what he was doing.

“Agent,” Vector’s voice was a soft warning as they crept to the top of an outcropping.

Movement ahead, through his macrobinoculars he watched crimson armored soldiers were executing the few remaining civilians by firing squad – their screams and the sound of blaster fire making bile rise in the back of his throat.

A figure dressed in dark armor and robes with a hood drawn over their face was stalking away, two red lightsabers activated as he hunted something. Two red skinned Purebloods watched the shorter figure as they set off. One seemed interested in what had caused the hooded figure’s movement while the other just seemed bored and annoyed as if his having to supervise this massacre was a bother.

“Get back to the ship,” he murmured to Vector. He waited for the Joiner to obey before he activated his stealth generator and crept down towards the village.

He was careful to skirt around where the Imperial Guardsmen were finishing their executions and to avoid the Purebloods – one looked unsettlingly like the images he had seen of the Emperor’s Wrath – to fall into the hooded figure’s wake.

Once out of sight of the others though the Sith deactivated the blades, instead turning their shadowed face around, as if looking for something.

By the time that Aydin realized that he’d been detected it was too late, the Sith had force pushed him into the side of the building, leaving him dazed and unstealthed. He might’ve slid straight into the mud if the crushing pressure wasn’t pinning him upright.

The figure advanced, head tilted to the side. He was allowed to drop to his knees as the figure approached, the hood being pushed back while he advanced. Still the pressure from the Force continued, his arms pinned and his legs unable to work. The grip on his throat had lessened considerably though, spots were no longer dancing in his vision as his chest heaved a little with the effort of getting breath back into his lungs.

Pale skin, with subtle geometric tattoos and long blond hair brushed around his horns. His eyes caught on the blood red orbs that studied him with confusion and interest, they were a few shades brighter than Aydin’s own naturally crimson eyes.

The Zabrak crouched, fingers trailing over his face gently – in an almost confused manner. The expression so hurt and lost that Aydin wasn’t sure what to say – even as he felt himself go utterly still at the touch. His love’s hands had been the ones to leave the light saber wounds on so many of the villagers…

“Aydin, what are you doing here?” he murmured softly. A shy thumb tracing over the triangle of diamonds under his left eye. The expression he was wearing like he was surprised to find that the man was real.

“Came looking for you, Dak. You couldn’t think I’d really leave it at that while you’re still breathing – did you? Give me some credit, please.”

The Jed – was he really still Jedi at this point? - seemed caught off guard by the statement and the smile the agent was presenting him. Confusion and fear ticking by before he turned his head towards where the Purebloods were, doubtlessly the ones that held whatever leash that had been slipped around the knight’s neck to drag him down into the darkness.

Whatever the decision he made then was Dak’s fingers twined into Aydin’s hair, pulling his head back to a slight angle before he kissed the Mirialan. It wasn’t the way Dak usually kissed, this one was blistering, full of hunger and the desire to possess (not that Dak lacked passion in his usual behavior but he’d never been fond of using his teeth before).

When the Jedi-turned-Sith pulled back he ran his fingers gently through the Mirialan’s hair. “You are _mine_ , Aydin Olasee.”

He stood, drawing his hood back up as the pressure released around Aydin.

“Go. The others will kill you if they find you.”

“Dak,” he tried – only to be met with a glare from beneath the hood. He could get the Jedi free, get them to Tython, the Council could surely fix whatever had his boyfriend’s eyes the color they were.

“Go, the Emperor will know what you mean to me and…” The expression of helpless sorrow that played across the Zabrak’s face in the shadows was too familiar – Dak was trapped, not by brainwashing and neural programming but something to do with that Force bullshit that was the bread and butter of the Jedi and Sith. “I _can’t_ lose you, Aydin. Please.”

The spy nodded, but grabbed the Jedi’s wrist, dragging him back to kiss him again. “I love you, Dak. Stay strong.”

With that he reactivated his stealth field and began his trek back to the ship - he had to go before his desire to try and rescue the other won out over the bone-deep knowledge that it was impossible to do so as things stood.

He just prayed that Kaliyo had something strong enough stashed away to help him forget what the Empire was twisting the man he loved into - at least for a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to write something nice today and then work on Tusin and Theron but nooo, brain had other plans. C'est la vie.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> You can always come say hi to me at: https://aly-the-writer.tumblr.com/


	17. Jedi Soup - Theron Shan/Tusin Shade [SI]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theron has a cold, Tusin does something nice for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, just wanted to say "hi". I'm not at home right now so my writing schedule is way more hectic than usual.
> 
> Pretty much means it'll take me longer to write anything than ya'll who started following me for the Star Wars stuff are used to.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Also this is to complete a prompt meme on Tumblr. (Will post over there when I can.)

Tusin ran a hand back through his hair, nodding absently as he listened to Lana catching him up to speed on what had been going on during his away mission.

He’d gotten off the shuttle expecting Theron to be there – Theron was always the one who met him when he returned to base. Not normally alone but he was always _there_. Still Lana hadn’t said something was wrong…

“He’s fine,” the blond commented, at last realizing why the other Sith hadn’t paid attention to her. “Just a cold, Commander. The infirmary gave him a shot, if he rests then he will be better in a day or two.”

She watched as the gold eyes studied her, they were at the turn that the Commander would have to take to get to his room or the lift to the residential level. She’d seen that look before – both Theron and Tusin wore it when they were struggling with their desire to be with the other and their workaholic tendencies.

“I think he ended up in your quarters after Master Silver threatened to find an ‘alternative means’ of making sure he rested as required,” Lana added.

The grin – quickly hidden – was the only sign of amusement that came from the thought of the Barsen’thor of all people threatening violence on another.

“Then you don’t need me for anything tonight?”

There was a small mountain of paperwork and reports to finalize the details on but they could all be put off for at least one night. Still she dragged out answering, as if having to contemplate, until the Pureblood’s eyebrow protrusions had lifted up like wings – they always made his expressions over emphasized to the point where incredulity looked slightly ridiculous on his face.

“Nothing for tonight, Commander,” she relented at last. “Take care you don’t get sick, I can’t run this Alliance by myself.”

“Wait, so that’s not what you’re doing already?” he joked, beginning to walk down the hall.

She waved him off and headed towards the lift to go to her own private quarters. She had a nice bottle of wine she’d been saving for a quiet evening.

Tusin, meanwhile, let himself into his quarters as quietly as he could. The room was mostly dark, the blankets huddled into pile on the center of the bed while Theron was still asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around and his face tucked against the pillow that Tusin usually used. He looked entirely worn out even asleep, his mouth open so he could try to breath with his breath snuffled from the congested sinuses. The brown hair pressed completely flat without any of the usual styling done to it.

He knew Theron would never appreciate the thought but Tusin thought he looked rather cute. He leaned over and kissed the other man’s temple.

Gold-hazel eyes blinked blurrily up at him. “When’d you get back?” his voice a little hoarse as he sat up.

“Just now,” he smiled softly. “I understand you’ve been exhausting our Jedi’s inexhaustible well of patience. Have you eaten at all?” he said, picking up the bottle of pills on the table that Theron went to reach for to read the label.

“Not been hungry,” the spy muttered, flopping back onto the pillows as he watched Tusin – wondering for a moment if the Sith Lord planned on chasing him back to his own room. He was gross and miserable three days into the cold – definitely not something anyone would want to deal with after just returning from wading through a factory of Skytroopers with Havoc Squad.

“You need to eat - especially since all you do is survive off caff and prepackaged food usually. Besides, this says you need to take it with warm food. When’s your next dose supposed to be?”

“Like your diet’s any better,” Theron muttered sitting up a little to squint at the chronometer (though he could’ve just as easily checked the time with his implants), “Hour, hour-half.”

“Anything you want?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright. Go back to sleep for a bit longer, love,” he stroked Theron’s hair, secretly admiring the texture of it sans hair-product beneath his fingers.

Once the spy had muttered a half-hearted protest and retreated back into his cocoon of blankets Tusin got up, slipping from his rooms in thought. Theron was correct, Tusin’s diet was rarely any better. Ration bars or eating at the cantina was fairly common when he remembered to take a break long enough to eat.

Still he needed to find something that Theron would probably eat without much protest – maybe something that reminded him of childhood? He’d been raised by Jedi and there was at least one Jedi that cooked around the base.

Jedi Knight Dak Izma – the man who had struck the blow that freed the Sith Empire from the Emperor’s control – was a short, friendly blond Zabrak with bright green eyes that drew plenty of attention. He was also friendly enough with Theron that he might agree to help out

The residential levels had several communal kitchens, and it was easy to find the one that they’d occupied. The Jedi he was looking for was wrapped up in his husband’s arms, getting a kiss. The Mirialan agent who’d once been called Cipher Nine but now went by Aydin Olasee was the first to notice and smiled at him over the shorter man’s head as he straightened.

“Commander, what can we do for you?” the clipped Kaasi accent was the one most common among Imperial Intelligence operatives (and it occurred to Tusin then that perhaps they were all trained to use it) that was obviously false in Aydin as he opted to use different accents to suit his mood.

“Actually I was wondering if Dak knew how to make Jedi so- uh, rootleaf stew.”

‘Jedi Soup’ was the name that Imperials gave the very plain though healthy meal.

“Rootleaf stew?” Dak echoed, exchanging a look with Aydin. “I mean, yeah, I _can_ make it. Just didn’t think it was something anyone ate if they didn’t grow up in the Order.”

“Theron still down for the count?” the spy asked. Theron was a favorite target of his practical jokes – a bit of rivalry left over from when they’d been the best spies on their respective sides of the war.

“Yes, and he doesn’t seem to be hungry. I thought that something he grew up on with would help and I know he was raised by Jedi…”

Aydin winced and looked at Dak, almost pleadingly.

The Zabrak met his gaze apologetically, “Alright, I’ll make some.”

Aydin groaned, pretending to clasp his chest and stagger against the counter, “My nerf burgers.”

“I’ll make them for you tomorrow,” the Jedi smiled over, watching his boyfriend’s dramatic ‘death’ as he crumpled to the floor.

“Liiiiessssss,” the Mirialan hissed dramatically before falling still.

Tusin hid a smile behind his hand, Aydin was one of the more troublesome members of the Alliance. Primarily because his fondness for practical jokes meant everyone from Lana to Aric Jorgan was ready to shoot the man (with the exception of the Jedi he was married to) but he was still one of the best agents they had on staff.

Dak meanwhile had opened the refrigerator unit that was labeled ‘Izma & Green Bean’.

“Does it taste that bad?” Tusin asked the agent who was climbing back to his feet following his performance.

“ _Yes_.”

“No it doesn’t,” Dak said, sorting out his ingredients. “It’s very simple, too simple for Aydin’s tastes.”

Despite his disagreement regarding the meal choice for that night the Mirialan was on his feet helping in an easy rhythm with the other man – washing and cutting ingredients or measuring things out at the Zabrak’s request. For his part Dak moved around the kitchen with a sort of confidence that the Jedi usually lacked when off the battlefield, only he wasn’t usually smiling broadly or comparing vegetables to his husband’s skin tone when he fought.

Tusin took a seat to watch the pair – wondering if he should offer to help considering it was a request for _his_ lover that they were making. Cooking was an art form that he’d never quite gotten the hold of – though the Pureblood admired anyone who managed it and even with the laughter and joking (or maybe because of it) this particular couple made it look a bit like a dance.

It wouldn’t take the ability to read their connection through the Force to see that the two were close – let alone to see how obviously in love the pair was. How had they managed to keep it unknown for as long as they had managed?

“How does the Hero of Tython end up married to the Imperial Ghost, anyways?” he asked curiously.

“You meet all sorts in cantinas in Nar Shaddaa,” Dak laughed softly glancing over. “Terrible pick-ups, cheap drinks, and bad decisions pretty much sums us up back then.”

“You’re forgetting that we’re devastatingly handsome as well as being complete messes,” Aydin smirked, leaning down to peck Dak’s lips before going to run the dishes they were done with through the wash

 

Theron cracked an eye open as the door to the room opened again. He hadn’t heard Tusin leave, but he was exhausted and it was embarrassingly difficult to fall asleep without the other man in the bed. Although, he felt that he might be granted some forgiveness considering that anyone would fret over their lover being on a battlefield.

It’d been easier to sleep knowing that Tusin was back on the base, safe and sound.

Balanced on one hand the Sith Pureblood carried in a tray laden with bowls, mug and silverware, which he set on one of the tables in the room, shoving some of his papers and datapads back into a pile to clear the space to do so.

The smell of food – something familiar – reached Theron’s nose from where he was watching the scene from his blanket cave and made his stomach grumble loudly.

“Wasat?” he asked, starting to sit up but still mostly muffled by bedding.

It sort of smelled like rootleaf but no way Tusin would make that – actually there was no way the Sith would make anything. The Commander was a disaster in the kitchen and Lana had explicitly forbidden him from attempting to cook again.

“I didn’t make it,” the alien promised, offering him a bowl. “I may owe Agent Olasee an apology, he seemed to be rather saddened by the loss of his nerf-burgers.”

Theron grinned despite himself – Aydin suffering in petty ways always made him smile.  “I’m sure all this,” he waved his hand at his face. “Is somehow his fault anyways.”

“Doubtful,” Tusin mused, setting a mug at Theron’s elbow. Tea of some sort, a deep crimson-black color to it, probably something the Sith had brewed him. Before sitting down with his own bowl and mug. “But he certainly owes you for some of the other things he’s done.”

“Won’t disagree there. Where does he even find time to compose poetry anyways?” he muttered, tasting the bowl’s contents. Dak’s version of the recipe had a Dantooine flare, probably using iriaz broth as a base instead of mushrooms like Master Zho had used. Still it was delicious – and the familiar taste through the deadened taste-buds that came with sickness was a comfort.

“I assumed that he pulled it off the Holonet,” Tusin was prodding his bowl carefully examining the ingredients that had gone into the stew.

“It’s good,” Theron pointed his spoon at the Sith’s bowl. “And no, he writes them. I know he composes terrible poetry for Dak when they practice.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified,” the Sith mused before finally tasting the meal. It actually was good. As simple a flavor as promised, which would have likely made it easier to convince a variety of younglings across species to eat it with little fuss. Though he could see someone who preferred lots of flavor in everything – like Aydin did – would dislike the dish.

He blinked up noticing that Theron was staring at him.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope,” he smiled – stuffy and still feeling achy and miserable, but he had someone who had gone out of his way to care about that. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Theron. Now eat so you can take your medicine,” the Sith smiled back affectionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks!


	18. Yumyum - Dak Izma [JK]/Aydin Olasee [IA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Completing a prompt request on Tumblr.
> 
> Just a cute scene with these two.

Dak was stretched out on the beach under an umbrella. The pirates that might’ve usually hassled the short, pale skinned Zabrak had decided that anyone carrying a lightsaber (let alone two) wasn’t worth their effort.

Aydin loved Rishi, he always had – Raider’s Cove was home in a way that Nar Shaddaa and Dromund Kaas had never been. Even with his parents and most their crew gone (the Nova Blades had been quick to drive out the remnants of the rival gang when his parents’ ships had been destroyed) this place was still home. Plus he was really enjoying visiting it with his boyfriend.

Dak had ditched his usual clothes in favor for lighter clothes – or specifically a pair of bright blue swim-trunks. Since he wasn’t looking as red as Lord Scourge he must’ve put on some sort of sun protection. A number of scars were visible – wounds from his role as a warrior of the Republic. He knew the stories for most of them.

Away from the battlefield Aydin adored the way that Dak’s skin showed very bruise. It meant that the love bites he’d left the night before were readily visible (on his own green skins bruises looked brown-black, not nearly as attractive) – a point of pride for the Mirialan as he carried over the drinks and a basket of food.

Crossing his legs on the blanket he kicked his own shoes off, to relax.

“Why haven’t we done this before?” Dak asked, cracking open one of his bright green eyes to watch Aydin settle before sitting up.

“We both have a compulsive need to stop idiots from destroying planets in their attempts to upset the order of the universe,” Aydin pointed out, leaning over to kiss the other man.

“We should really stop doing that sometime,” the Zabrak was sitting up more comfortably now – accepting his drink from Aydin and sipping on it as he studied the basket of various fried and breaded items.

“Lunch,” Aydin grinned picking out one of the objects with a pair of chopsticks and holding it to Dak’s lips. “You trust me don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” the Jedi replied but obediently ate the piece anyways. A slightly puzzled expression crossing his face as he considered what he was tasting. The breading itself was tasty – a little salty and with a slight bite to it that gave it a bit of spice – while the meat was more delicate, but it wasn’t something he could place.

Aydin meanwhile was grinning as he ate his own.

“Okay, that was good but what are you feeding me – and it better not have been sentient.”

“Hey now, unlike you, I was never a Red Hulls!” the spy gasped, placing a hand over his heart. (Never mind he’d never even _heard_ of the Red Hulls until one of the Rishii had mistaken his boyfriend for one of the supposedly cannibalistic pirates.) His red eyes playful as he answered the question: “Also it’s mud crab – the locals catch the smaller ones for food. The red breading are spicy grophet nuggets and the lighter brown ones are tronitran.”

Dak snorted, before reaching over to try one of the grophet nuggets, humming appreciatively. It was always nice to have someone who knew the cuisine pick out what to eat.

“Although it’d be hard for you to deny your _appetite_ for sentient flesh after last night,” Aydin added, timing the comment for while Dak had his mouth full so when the Jedi laughed he choked, coughed, and gave him a scowl with watering eyes before punching him lightly in the arm.

“Dick.”

“ _Exactly_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, ya'll!


	19. Leashed - Aydin Olasee [IA]/Dak Izma [JK]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty rough on Aydin. He's in a bad place mentally and it shows in his thoughts, which could be potentially triggering.
> 
> Let me know if specific tags would've been warranted instead of a general warning and I'll add them right away.
> 
> This takes place a few hours after Aydin's first encounter with Ardun Kothe.

The agent closed his eyes, leaning his head against his palm as he waited for the next wave of sickening vertigo to finish crashing over him. Infiltrate the SIS posing as a double agent, it should’ve been a simple job for a Cipher even the youngest and most inexperienced one in the service. Ardun Kothe’s biggest danger was supposed to be that he had the Force and he’d already directly defied Jadus, what could a washed up Jedi do that a Sith hadn’t already tried?

Except something had gone wrong. The SIS had somehow put some kind of brainwashing in his mind…Only the SIS couldn’t have done this – they were using it but brain washing, neural programming…that was _Imperial_.

Imperial Intelligence had put a leash on their rabid alien dog and now it was going to strangle him. He let out a choked laugh and grabbed the next drink to toss it back.

The other patrons at the run down cantina had already drifted away to give him space – Aydin was well armed, and not in the right mind. It wasn’t someone that anyone in the seedy Nar Shaddaa joint was keen to tangle with when it didn’t seem like the Mirialan had his own continued survival on his mind. The bar tender was keeping a wary eye on him and kept the drinks coming long as Aydin was paying.

He was barely paying attention to his surroundings anymore when a hand reached into his vision to take the glass from his fingers.

The agent started, going for his gun, but red eyes were glaring at a familiar pale haired Jedi. How had the Zabrak even found him in the twisted, dark allies of this filthy city planet? Or was he really that desperate for some sort of safety his mind was conjuring the man up?

“C’mon, let’s get you somewhere to lay down,” the green eyed man smiled to him, hooking his arm around Aydin’s waist when he saw the much taller man was unsteady on his feet.

Well it probably wasn’t a hallucination if it could support his weight. That or he was going to wake up in a few hours missing organs. Right now though, he wasn’t really sure he could care.

“Force, you’re heavy,” the Jedi grumbled under his breath as he hauled Aydin through the streets to a better sector where he got them a room and managed to get the other into a bed with minimal trouble. (Although why Aydin seemed convinced he was a hallucination was a little worrying, had he been dosed with something? He wasn’t usually this unwieldy a drunk either.)

The timing to getting into the room was good as Aydin bolted for the refresher soon as they were in the door and unceremoniously emptied the contents of his stomach while Dak waited on the other side of the door debating if he should attempt to undo the lock mechanism with the Force or not.

Running water and the sound of the agent rinsing his mouth convinced the Jedi he could move away.

Dak breathed out a sigh before he ordered food – mostly for himself, unsure if even Aydin’s indomitable appetite could survive the way the other felt – while waiting for the other to reappear, keeping an ear out for any trouble.

Aydin didn’t take long to drag himself to the main room, collapsing on the bed, unusually quiet and a strangely flat expression on his face. Still he didn’t have the sparkly sharp-edged wrongness that spice addicts had around them when he tried to feel them through the force.

“How’d you even find me?” the spy asked at last – seeming to settle on an important question.

The green eyes darted away from him – not meeting the crimson gaze as he answered, “The Force. About three hours ago I sensed something happen…” he trailed over, the tenseness in his shoulders building, the way that he’d seen it develop when he watched Dak on holo with a Jedi Master. “You were in pain or scared or something…and there’s _something_ wrong. I can feel it but...” the Jedi shrugged helplessly.

Aydin’s throat tightened, as he sat up on bed, and stared at the Jedi who was clearly frustrated with his own inability to identify what was wrong.

“There’s…” _something wrong – I’m being controlled._

His head ached suddenly, the words cut off and died in his throat. Dak knew he was in trouble, wanted to help even and he couldn’t tell his stupid fool of a Jedi lover what was wrong.

“Fuck!” he spat, slamming his fist into his thigh, tears gathering in his eyes. “Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” He hit his leg with each repetition, hating his body – his mind – for the betrayal it was subjecting him to.

Dak’s hand around his wrist yanked his hand away so he couldn’t keep doing so.

“Aydin, Aydin! Stop!” the Jedi practically shouted, worry written in every line of his being. Aydin’s own fear reflected in his gaze.

All the spy could do though was break – sobbing as tears ran down his face. He was broken, lost, a puppet that would be tossed aside the moment his use expired. He couldn’t even tell the man he was in _love_ with what was wrong.

Arms wrapped tight around him as Dak pulled him into a close hug, not saying anything.

Aydin closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the Jedi’s collar-bone, tears running down his cheeks as he cried, wishing he could fix why or stop and pretend things were okay or just reassure Dak that he didn’t have to worry.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want to lie to Dak. The stupidly warm and friendly Jedi had earned his trust months ago but he still couldn’t tell him anything because Ardun Kothe had forbidden him from talking about the programming.

Dak maneuvered them both into a more comfortable position, not letting Aydin out of his hold even when the tears dried up. His saber-calloused fingers soothing as they stroked through the fine black hair or across his shoulders.

“I’m here,” was all the Jedi offered - no questions, no pity, just the comfort of his presence and the safety of his company. Aydin, for his part, pretended not to notice the way those hands trembled slightly.

He closed his eyes, listening to Dak’s breathing and heartbeat as the sobs died into the choked and shuddery breaths that followed such an outburst.

Exhausted, he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! I love to see ya'll's comments and kudos!
> 
> Drop by my tumblr to say hi or drop me a request.


	20. Letters - Tusin [SI], Dak [JK], and Aydin [IA]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was to have the OC write a letter to their love interest that was on board Marr's destroyer and that becomes the Outlander.

 

To: Nyl Ellodai

From: Dak Izma

Subject: Where are you?

The Jedi tried to teach me that “ _There is no Death, there is the Force.”_

 I told you once that that wasn’t what I believed – but it’s been a year since you disappeared, and sometimes I wish it was what I believed. You disappeared. Marr died. _Something_ happened with Vitiate and Zakuul attacked claiming their Emperor had been assassinated.

Sometimes when I sleep I think I sense you out there, beyond the front lines where I can’t reach but that’s just my imagination isn’t it? You’re gone and I never did get to give you your ring. Instead I wear it next to the one that you gave me on Rishi.

I’m tired Aydin. And I miss you.

Please, if by some miracle you’re still alive please come back to me. I need you.

I love you.

 

 

To: Dak Izma

From: Aydin Olasee

Subject: No.

Dak you god damned idiot, where the kriffing hell are you? You are not doing this to me again! I _told_ you not to go hunting the Emperor again. Now look at this mess. You went and disappeared _again_.

Everyone keeps saying you and Mar died on that scrap pile of his. I won’t believe it. Not until you show up in front of me as a glowy-ass Force spirit.

I’m not in denial, you just can’t be dead. Not after everything.

I know this isn’t it. I married you to spend the rest of my life with you – you don’t get to bail this early on just because your stupid Jedi compulsion to save the galaxy got you tangled up in _another_ mess.

You. Are. Not. Dead. Got it? Not dead.

I’m coming to find you so just hang on, okay?

 

 

 

To: Theron Shan

From: Tusin Shade

Subject: Surrender

Lana tells me she believes that you are alive but imprisoned somewhere in Zakuul. That she is working to get you out now. I have provided what support I could to her in the matter.

I wasn’t sure if I should write – the way things were left on Yavin and then after Ziost…if you’re still reading this I guess that means you’re either really bored on the shuttle to wherever she’s taking you or you decided that you didn’t want nothing to do with me after all.

When you wake up I want you to know that my feelings for you haven’t changed. I’ve thought about you almost every day and when I thought I had lost you…

I should’ve fought harder for you on Yavin, or at least been there to protect you.

Instead I put the Sith first. I am sorry.

When I see you again there is a lot I have to tell you, Theron. But I promise I _will_ see you again. I have a bottle of very expensive brandy wagered on that fact.

With my love,

Tusin


	21. What Lies in Darkness - Izar Nuncio [BH]/Claribel Fyre [SM]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “There’s blood on my/your hands.” OC of your choice :)
> 
> Went with Izar Nuncio and Claribel Fyre for this one...only the first real thing I write with them in forever is an AU where Clari continued her Imperial training and Izar went on with his plan to enlist in the Republic Army. Usually Clari is my Voidhound and Izar the Great Hunt Champion. So they’re faction swapped for this one.

“You have blood on your hands,” he snapped, trying to pull away from the woman’s hands. This mission had gone from unpleasant to the fires of a Corellian hell. His comrades were dead and he was alone except for this spook and whatever was in the shadows hunting them.

“You want to bleed out do it on someone else’s time, asshole,” she snapped, glaring at him before stabbing him none too gently with a kolto injection. “As for who killed who, pretty sure that’s what war is about but whatever  _ that _ is,” she flicked her hand out to indicate the darkness beyond the flickering light source she’d set up in order to treat him, “Isn’t something either of us signed on to deal with.”

The woman was dressed in black combat attire, lightweight materials that didn’t provide as much protection as the heavier armor he’d been wearing (although considering whatever it was that was out there in the shadows had sheared straight through his heavy armor and that of the rest of his squad he wasn’t sure that mattered at the moment).

“Now, I would like a chance to survive this so I either leave you here to play bait and figure my own way out or we work together.” The field medicine complete she sat back on her haunches to look at him. “Otherwise your people are gonna send a rescue squad down here for a bunch of dead men and get  _ those _ people killed too.”

He didn’t want to admit it but the Republic was unlikely to not investigate what went wrong that the squad never reported back. And...he didn’t want to die. Not yet.

“Alright.”

“What do I call you then, I don’t think ‘idiot’ is appropriate now that we’re working together.”

“Nuncio,” he snorted. “What about you agent? You got a name?”

“Actually, no, I don’t,” she said getting to her feet and shouldering her rifle before offering him a hand up. “‘Agent’ works fine, that’s what everyone else calls me.” She wasn’t about to give her designation to a Republic soldier, not when if they got out of this alive she planned on either killing him herself or letting him go.

“What do your friends call you if you don’t have a name?”

“...there’s a monster hunting us and you’re worried about my name?”

“For all I know you  _ are _ the monster hunting me.”

“Pretty sure you’ve got Intelligence confused for the Sith if you think I could pull off leaving your squad in that many pieces, Nuncio,” she gave him a look before returning to checking her information - not surprising to see that the probes she’d sent out weren’t transmitting anymore. There were some crazy electrical signals that accompanied the attack before that had caused a weird feedback into her left eye. 

Her partner - the senior agent on the mission - had told her not to worry about it and then a moment later something had knocked out their lights, torn her partner’s arm off and dragged him screaming into the darkness - although the screams hadn’t lasted long - and the sudden snuffing of the sounds echoing through the maze of stone halls had been nearly alarming as the knowledge of her counterpart’s suffering.

“Hey - your electrical equipment flare up right before the attack?” Nuncio was rummaging through the heavy pack he’d had near him when she’d found the soldier. “Our scanning equipment started reacting something then our comms and lights went out. Heard Tully start screaming about his leg being gone and then the lights came back and he was in pieces.”

“Yeah - why?”

“Because that means we’re gonna have to do this old school if we’re going to see what’s out there,” he said as he made a little triumphant noise while pulling out a cannister. “You got any idea about the way out of here?”

“Somewhat…” she nodded trailing off. “What  _ are _ you doing?”

“Don’t worry about it - you seem like a gal that likes surprises. This one will be good, I promise.”

She eyed him - a part of her wanted to grin, another part of her wanted to remind him that they weren’t really allies.

She flinched, her vision in her left eye going white as the electrical signal that whatever was attacking them gave off interfered with the cybernetics feeding information into her visual processing.

“It’s coming!” she warned.

There was the sound of something slithering across the stone at high speeds and then pain shot up her right arm before it went numb...no, not actually numb - the pain relays had hit the safety blocks and shut down - and her arm was a sparking stub below her elbow.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and dragged her back as fire lit up the room, the spot where she’d been standing impaled by a sharp spear-like metallic insectoid-limb.

The creature it belonged to hissed out a  _ scream _ as the flames caught it, partially mechanical partially flesh it looked like a massive centipede, a monster with blades for feet and snapping jaws which had been what tore away her cybernetic limb. Along its back was armored - dents from where it’d been pinged by shots fired during earlier attacks throwing back the firelight.

It flailed almost blindly - the light in the room messing with its optical sensors, unaccustomed to any sort of brightness - as Nuncio kept at it with his makeshift flamethrower.

The rifle was a no-go with only one hand, but she managed to get her side-arm (the one that she usually only used to threaten annoying people at cantinas with) up and firing shots at the writhing mass of metal and insectoid flesh.

Another blood-curdling scream and the creature fell to the ground, still twitching but otherwise no longer thrashing in an attempt to attack.

“Well….that worked. Fuck, your arm!” he turned quickly towards her, thinking to stop the bleeding only to stare. “...is not bleeding.”

“Cybernetics, the nerve feeds have a kill switch for the pain levels that triggered automatically. Can’t feel a thing,” she replied grimly. “We should probably go - in case that thing starts moving again or there’s more.”

“You really think it’s gonna get up again?”

She gave a shrug, returning the blaster to its place at her thigh and then scooping her rifle up with her still working hand. “Looks like Sith alchemy to me, I don’t take chances there...and...thanks.”

“What for, Agent?” puzzlement clear in his voice. The soldier smirked a bit as the portable lantern flicked back to full life and gesturing for her to lead the way out of the death-tunnels.

Beginning to walk - and ignoring the itch between her shoulders at letting an armed enemy walk behind her when she was already impaired defensively - she answered: “My life, if you’d not moved when you did.”

“Not a problem, Agent.”

“Clari. My friends, such that they are, call me Clari.”

“Well then, Clari, sorry for being an ass about you saving my life first.”

“...I was planning to shoot you when we got back to the surface.”

“Oookay, a little less sorry now. You Imperial types really have a mean streak to you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always comments are appreciated and utterly adored!
> 
> If you want to see more of any of the characters I've written about pop over to my tumblr ( aly-the-writer) and let me know. (Or leave it in the comments here.)


	22. Untitled - Valirek (JC) & Senya

 

“Here,” the soft spoken voice behind her was a bit of a surprise. She’d not spent a lot of time with the others in the burgeoning Alliance, instead letting herself worry about what fate this burgeoning organization would bring for her children. They were monsters because of their father but...could she really just accept that and abandon them?

The man who’d approached had a mug of tea extended towards her, his eyes were a soft gray shade and his hair starkly white despite his youth.  

“It's a little cold out,” he explained as she slowly accepted the mug. “And now I'm being rude,” he grinned as if the surge of suspicion from her was something he could sense. “My name is Valirek Silver. I've been asked to join as a representative of Jedi interests in the conflict.”

“You're a little young to represent the Jedi aren't you?”

“A complaint I have had since I was placed on the Council, I assure you.” The smile was soft and genuine, as he joined her at the railing, raising his own mug to his lips to sip.

The silence hung between them the soft sort that didn’t require it to be broken by nervous chatter or forceful questions.

She lifted hers to inhale the scent, curious as to what it was - something unfamiliar but faintly floral.

“Why not join the others in the cantina to celebrate?”

“Parties are fine for those who do enjoy them, one of whom I am decidedly not, and I thought that the tea might be a good gesture. You can’t have an easy time these last few months knowing that any of those you talk to might be the one ultimately responsible for the deaths of your children.”

She frowned a little, eyes narrowing with anger as she jerked her gaze sharply off the landscape to the man beside her only to find there wasn’t any judgement in his expression.

“...it’s not wrong of you to care for them, or to fear for what this war will bring to them and out of them. And it is not wrong of you to care or fear for those you are coming to know here on Odessen.” He paused, looking down at his tea before glancing back to her, “I’d be happy to make you tea again - if you decide you’d like someone to listen or if you’d just like some more tea.”

He gave her a slight bow: polite and friendly in the Jedi’s standoffish manner before he began to walk towards the building, meaning to give her the privacy she had come out here to seek in the first place.

“Wait - how did you know?”

That got her a long, thoughtful silence, “I should claim it was an educated guess but you felt...lonely when I sensed your emotions earlier. I simply wished to help if I could.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually like how this is a mess to navigate or anything so I've decided to no longer use this format to post. From now on stories will be posted separately to my account.


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